


Ding Show

by neversaydie



Series: All My Own Stunts [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, Bipolar Disorder, Carny Clint, Clint Needs a Hug, Mania, Mental Health Issues, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's not sure if it's the hangover or the lack of food that's making him feel sick. It could just be the mania, and wouldn't that be typical. Wouldn't that be just what he needs right now. </p><p>He's been up for three days, hasn't sobered up for two of them and hasn't eaten for four total. Last night the neighbours complained because he was up drinking beer and singing along to AC/DC in the early hours of the morning. He's got a bruise on his cheekbone from where he tripped over the coffee table on his way to find more booze.</p><p>He's starting to understand how Bruce feels when he talks about the Other Guy. Manic Clint is a whole different entity to levelled-out Clint. </p><p>He's not sure how Manic Clint is going to do on-mission, but he'll find out sooner than he wants to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ding Show

**Author's Note:**

> So I got back into Clint-brain for some reason. Hope people still enjoy this series.

Clint's not sure if it's the hangover or the lack of food that's making him feel sick. It could just be the mania, and wouldn't that be typical. Wouldn't that be just what he needs right now.

He's been up for three days, hasn't sobered up for two of them and hasn't eaten for four total. He made some excuse about wanting space right before the swing hit full-force and ducked out of the tower to the bolt-hole apartment he and Phil still keep in Brooklyn. Last night the neighbours complained because he was up drinking beer and singing along to AC/DC in the early hours of the morning. He's got a bruise on his cheekbone from where he tripped over the coffee table on his way to find more booze. Phil is away on assignment, so Clint is free to let go of the reins and let the mania take over.

He's starting to understand how Bruce feels when he talks about the Other Guy. Manic Clint is a whole different entity to levelled-out Clint. He's a lot more like carny Clint, like the kid who used to jabber away to Barney in the cant he'd picked up despite his shitty hearing that his brother could never master. He tries it out, talking to the ceiling and rolling old vowels over his rusty tongue. Still got it, Manic Clint's still got it.

He's not sure how Manic Clint is going to do on-mission, but he'll find out sooner than he wants to.

The call comes when he's at around hour 78 of his little marathon, and luckily he's fairly sobered up by then. Once he's scrabbled his gear together he takes way more than the recommended dose of his anxiety meds to make sure he's levelled-out enough to look normal-ish in front of the team. It makes his mouth taste like chalk.

The façade works well enough when they're distracted by the mission. Tony looks at him a little funny, but Clint tosses him a can of Red Bull and that seems to be enough of an explanation for how keyed-up he is. Steve looks too tired to notice anything around him, let alone that Clint is more twitchy than usual. He spends all his time now searching for a ghost (and hadn't that caused arguments? _He's not fucking dead I don't care what you say I'll find him_ ), so Clint doesn't blame him.

Natasha gives him that look that says they'll be having a talk later, the one that's made grown men beg for their lives. Clint thinks vaguely that he should probably let himself fall off a building at some point and avoid that.

Doom bots get really old, really fast. Usually they're nothing more than a nuisance, mechanical flies that simply require being dispatched before the property damage gets too severe, but these ones are a slightly different story. The first time a bigger one shoots a laser that actually gets through the outer layer of Tony's suit, the team realise they need to kick things up a notch.

The first time one leaves the ground and they realise these bots can shoot lasers _and_ fly, Clint gets interested.

He throws himself into the battle with force, the force he couldn't summon for New York and that he's felt guilty about lacking that day ever since. Sure he fought with everything he had, through the haze of the Tesseract that still chilled his mind, but it wasn't with the _relish_ that he feels now. He barely feels his muscles scream or his fingers chafe from making shots when his glove somehow rips. He could do this all day and still beg for more. He feels _alive_.

The word _berserker_ floats across his strangely calm brain as he makes another shot and rips out the vital wiring of a bot that gets too close with his bare hands. Natasha had called him that, once. He doesn't think it's Russian.

Steve is sluggish in battle, in a way Clint's never seen him before. Maybe he's not slow, maybe everything has just sped up for Clint, but he still takes it upon himself to cover Steve's six and stop him from getting himself killed. Twice, three times, Clint prevents or deflects a shot that would have incapacitated Steve, if not killed him. He's not mad that Cap's reaction time is down, it feels good to have a purpose.

That is, until the fighting is finally over and Steve turns to him with wide eyes and worry on his face.

"Jesus Christ, Barton." There's something in his expression that Clint can't read, like he's looking at a ghost.

_Maybe he's not used to someone having his back. Not since…_

Clint squashes the thought. He goes on the offensive instead, brush off the concern with humour and make everyone look the other way before they notice anything is wrong.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the squishy human make all the superheroes look bad?" When he smiles it's a vicious little thing, all teeth.

"You were being totally reckless out there." And yeah, okay, Clint's pretty sure Steve's reciting a conversation he'd had with Barnes a million times before. There's a flash of hot anger down the back of his neck at being a stand-in. Ersatz for a real warrior. "You could have got yourself killed."

"Then watch your own back, shit."

"My back didn't need watching. I can take care of myself."

His mouth moves without his brain engaging. The rest of the team are regrouping near them and he doesn't care. It's like he's watching himself from far away and he can't do anything to stave off the car crash he's causing.

"Sure you can, Rogers. I was saving your ass because you're too busy moping about your dead boyfriend to notice when you're about to get your fucking head blown off."

Steve looks like he's been punched, wounded like Clint's found the one weak spot the serum didn't take away. The regret that suddenly fills him is why he doesn't see her coming.

Natasha slaps him. Natasha, the one person who knows everything about his life growing up, everything about Barney and their dad and why Clint is the way he is, slaps him in the face. That's when Clint knows he's really fucked up this time.

"Cap, I'm—" but Steve is walking away, his shoulders set like he'll fall apart if he doesn't forcefully hold himself together. Shit. He didn't mean to do this.

"Too far, Clint." Natasha doesn't even glare at him, she looks like she's just as shocked as he is. She knows he's not as hard-headed as he pretends to be, that this is totally out of character. But still, she walks away to go after Steve. Someone should.

There's a long, sharp silence. Thor is on Asgard and they don't bring out the Hulk for something as trivial (so they thought) as Doom bots, so it's just Tony and Clint left standing there in the settling dust. There's a familiar mechanical whirr as Tony lifts his faceplate and turns to look him over again, finally seeing through the weak façade Clint's maintained up to this point.

"You went off your meds, didn't you? Fuck, Barton." Tony always gives it to him straight, but today Clint doesn't exactly appreciate the tone of his voice. "Seriously. Are you even sober right now? When was the last time you slept?"

"I'm sober enough." The tiredness hits Clint suddenly, like his body only registered it when it was pointed out to him. His legs tremble but he locks his knees and refuses to stumble in front of Tony, who's giving him that look that they both hate getting from others.

That _I know you're fucked up and I'm not sure how to handle you right now_ look.

"Come back to the Tower." There's a metal hand on his arm and Clint knows he must be exhausted not to have noticed it move. He notices everything. "Seriously. Come and let my doctor look you over, we can start levelling you out."

"What if I don't want to level out?"

"Clint." The hand is still on his arm and it's starting to make him itch. "Come back to the Tower. I'll call Phil and—"

"Fuck you." Clint doesn't mean to spit it out and jerk his arm away, but he does. Tony looks carefully unsurprised. "I don't _want_ to level out."

"The high's not gonna last, you know that." Tony's voice is calm, level, and Clint hates that he's being treated so fucking gently. He's not _fragile_. "If you don't level out then you'll crash. You don't want that."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"I'm not trying to be an asshole for once, okay? But I will be if I have to." Tony's voice is rising slightly, and Clint almost feels relieved that he can find an opening to get the hell out of here. "Come to the Tower and let me call Phil and tell him what's going on."

"Tell him whatever you want, I'm not going back to the Tower." Clint shoves Tony in a moment of anger, no matter that it's pointless because of course he can't move the suit. "I'm not gonna let you lock me up."

"I'm not trying to—"

"I'm not a fuckin' emby, Tony. I know what this is." He barely registers the cant slipping out, but Tony's expression alerts him to the slip-up. Why the fuck not? They already know he's trash, he might as well own it. "This whole team's a ding show, I'm outta here."

"What the… You're being paranoid, Clint." Tony calls after him as he turns his back and walks away, taking the opposite direction to Steve and Natasha. "Barton!"

The bow over his shoulder makes it slightly cumbersome to give Tony the middle finger without turning around, but Clint manages it. He doesn't pause to collect his arrows, and he tosses his cell phone into the first garbage can he finds. He starts walking and doesn't stop, not sure where he's going, only that he has to get away.

If he stops, he might come down. The logical solution is not to stop. At intervals he punches his arm, slaps his face to stay awake. He can't crash, they'll take him if he does.

He keeps walking until everything familiar is long out of sight.

**Author's Note:**

> Emby – a particularly gullible mark. 
> 
> Ding show – a ding show is 'absolutely free,' but you aren't getting out without paying a 'contribution.' So in this case Clint means the team/SHIELD was presented as 'you can leave whenever you want,' but that isn't true. Once you're in, you can't leave.


End file.
